Elizabeth Elliot Seeks a Husband Part III

Here’s the conclusion of my short story. Will Elizabeth Elliot have her happily ever after?

You can find Part I here and Part II here.

Part III: October (An autumn stroll settles it all)

Elizabeth Elliot would never admit to feeling desperate, but desperate she was. After two months, she was no closer to finding a husband than she had been when her scheme had been born on the day of Anne and Captain Wentworth’s wedding. In addition to Sir Richard and Mr Needham, she had done everything possible to show five other eligible gentlemen that she was thinking of matrimony and found them acceptable choices. What did she have to show for it? Nothing!

Nothing except two handkerchiefs she had torn to shreds in frustration and far too many pieces of paper she had wasted when she wrote about her anger and humiliation before crumpling the sheets and tossing them into the fire. After a particularly dreadful experience with Mr Hall, which seemed to combine that she had suffered with Sir Richard and Mr Needham, she had torn the paper into pieces so small she could no longer grip them to continue her destruction. When some of them had floated to the ground, she—Miss Elizabeth Elliot—had been forced to collect them from the floor like a servant. It had been better than having her maid see what she had done. The whole household would be gossiping about her behaviour in an instant. Horrible, disloyal creatures.

Mr Hall had extremely most promising. He was three and thirty and had an estate in Cornwall worth almost six thousand a year! Elizabeth had been willing to tolerate his unmarried sister who, while not quite Elizabeth’s age, had none of her charm and would certainly become a spinster. She and Mr Hall had been having a perfectly agreeable, if boring, conversation about horses and hunting until they were separated for several minutes when Miss Allen insisted on interrupting them to ask about her gloves. Elizabeth turned back to Mr Hall to see his friend, Mr Simpson, beside him. Both men smirked at her, and Mr Simpson whispered something to his friend. Both of them then looked at her and laughed, actually laughed, before leaving her standing there alone. Every last person at the party had stared at her.

Except Mr Payne. He had been beside her in an instant with a cup of punch for her. She had taken it with as much dignity as she could muster, sipped twice, excused herself ‘just for a moment’ with a vague explanation, and fled the party.

That had been over two weeks ago, and she had not seen Mr Payne since. It would be outrageous to suppose she missed him—she absolutely, definitely, unquestionably did not—but, if pressed, she would admit that the most interesting conversations she had had with a man of late had been with him. They had met at two parties before his abrupt disappearance and talked about art, travel, and gardens as well as mocked the fashion sense of the young ladies enjoying their first visit to Bath.

Then one fine early autumn morning, when the sky was more blue than white and the trees were just being to show touches of colour other than green, she was promenading in Sydney Park and saw him. Her heart skipped a beat then raced and stilled in turn. The organ was behaving so erratically that it was fortunate she had always been healthy. If not, she would immediately consult an apothecary out of fear for her well-being. Her hand flew to her bonnet, and she cursed herself. Why was she wearing her old straw bonnet with the turquoise and silver ribbons? The orange velvet one was so much more attractive!

He was in front of her a moment later, bowing and saying her name.

She curtseyed, and when he asked, agreed that he could walk with her for a few minutes.

“I thought you had gone from Bath,” said Elizabeth.

Mr Payne looked down at her and smiled. “Oh? So you noticed my absence. I am flattered.”

Elizabeth blushed, hoped it was becoming, and stammered some nonsense about the smallness of the society. “Or perhaps I heard someone mention it. I was not missing you, I assure you.”

“That is a shame.”

He pointed at two grey squirrels who were chasing each other up and down trees and across the lawn. It was an amusing, silly display.

Mr Payne explained, “My sister-in-law insisted on going to her parents in Shropshire. I could not let her undertake the journey on her own. What a blasted long way!”

She sniffed. “If it was so disagreeable, I am surprised you bothered to return rather than go to your estate. Herefordshire would not have been so far to travel.”

He said nothing for a minute, then stopped walking. When she looked at him, her eyebrows arched ever so delicately, he asked, “Can you not imagine why I returned?” With that, he bowed and left her.

Elizabeth’s hands flew to her cheeks. All of a sudden, they felt like they were on fire. Good heavens! What is wrong with me today? It must be warmer outside than I gave it credit for.

Although determined not to think about the Mr Payne’s odd comment, Elizabeth found herself doing just that. He could not have been suggesting that he returned to see me? Impossible! From the first time they saw each other at a concert, his smirks and sly comments had shown that he disapproved of her. We may have had some pleasant conversation, but that does not mean—Besides, it is impossible. Mrs Thornton said his estate is small, not more than two thousand a year, and he has told me himself that he prefers the country. Just as well with so little money. He could not afford the Season in town or-or… Oh, it matters not! I am Miss Elizabeth Elliot, eldest daughter of Sir Walter Elliot of Kellynch. I can do better than a country gentleman of modest means.

A moment later, as she was fussing with the placement of items in her jewellery box, she thought, Even if he is interesting and amusing and—Oh damnation!

The next time she saw Mr Payne was at a ball given by the Scriveners. Elizabeth danced with two eligible gentlemen, but her heart was not in flirting or trying to gain their attention. She abused herself for stupidity.

The only reason I decided to come tonight was to further my scheme. It is autumn already, and I want a husband! Is it too much to ask? I dance with Lord Yarbury later. I will do better then. His reputation is not what I would like, but his estate is good, and as his wife, I could make him reform.

Elizabeth sighed. She just could not make herself want to do it. She almost resolved to claim a headache and give up on the night when Mr Payne approached and asked for a dance.

“Very well,” she said. She would not wonder if the flowers in her hair had wilted or why she felt more energetic.

The set started off well enough. They exchanged comments on the room and laughed at some of their fellow guests. After a short conversation about local politics, Mr Payne startled her by referring to her quest for a husband.

“I understand you have been…very occupied during my absence. Enjoying yourself and a, err, diversity of company.”

Elizabeth felt her face heat. “What are you implying, sir?”

He had the temerity to laugh at her. “Calm yourself, madam. I mean no insult. Every time I see you, wherever it is, you are looking to see which single gentlemen are there or flirting with them. The gossip is that Miss Elizabeth Elliot is anxious to resign the name and take a new one.”

Gossip? About her? People were gossiping about her scheme to find a husband? People knew about it? Elizabeth felt bile crawl up her throat. She was not certain whether she was more humiliated or enraged.

Mr Payne continued. “Ought I to be hurt that you have not considered me?”

Through gritted teeth, she hissed, “I shall not stay here and be insulted!”

He smirked, although he may have intended it to be a simple smile. “I mean no insult. I admire a lady who knows what she wants and actively seeks to obtain it. No one thinks twice if a gentleman decides he wants to marry and tries on a few ladies to see how they would fit him, so to speak. Why should a lady not do the same?”

“I fail to see how you do not understand how insulting you are. That is why I would never consider you!”

“Ah, but you did not know I would be insulting until a few minutes ago.”

Elizabeth huffed and was determined to ignore him for the remainder of the dance.

“Come now, Miss Elliot, I am an eligible prospect, if I can say so without sounding arrogant. My estate is lovely, the neighbourhood as good as any in the country, and in need of a lady to lead it, which you would do admirably. I do like a spirited lady. When you decide not to be insulted by my forthright manner, I flatter myself that you have enjoyed our interactions. You know I shall challenge you, be honest with you, laugh with you at the follies of others, and even at our own.”

She said nothing and willed her cheeks to cool before anyone else noticed and remarked upon her countenance, which she was sure was as red as a ripe cherry. Worse still, her eyes burned, and she had to blink several times to ensure no tears formed.

The dance ended, and they walked across the rooms searching for her party. While they did, Mr Payne resumed the conversation.

“It is a shame, really. You are quite an attractive woman. My advice to you is to stop looking for what you think Miss Elizabeth Elliot of Kellynch deserves and start thinking about what Miss Elizabeth Elliot wants and needs. What sort of man would make you happy? Is it one who would demand you act like the always proper, submissive wife and listen to them go on and on about their dogs or sport not caring that it bores you to tears and you have opinions and interests of your own? Or is it one who appreciates you as you are, warts and all?”

“I do not have warts!”

He laughed. “We all have warts, Miss Elliot. The secret to happiness is finding someone who accepts our warts as well as our virtues. How terrible it would be to go through life always playing a role.”

They found her friends, and in an instant, he had bowed and walked away.

***

Never had Elizabeth been so embarrassed as she had been during the dance with Mr Payne. That explained why she thought about his words again and again over the coming days.

Except perhaps by the betrayal of Mrs Clay, that-that harlot! How could he speak to me that way? And in a ballroom! It was even more humiliating that learning that Mr Elliot had been playing a game and she had been taken in by him. And he had the gall to prefer plain, dull Anne.

She shook her head and refused to think about Mrs Clay, Mr Elliot, and especially Mr Payne, any longer. It did no good. Fortunately, she was alone in her room and could bury her face in a cushion to muffle the sounds of her scream and sobs.

(Photo by StockSnap from Pixabay)

Nine days after the ball, Elizabeth sat in front of her mirror as she prepared for an outing to Beechen Cliff. She was not pleased with what she saw. Oh, she was still a fine looking woman, though the addition of ‘for her age’ seemed to wisp through her thoughts. Any man would be fortunate to win her regard and have her for his wife. Her fortune was not what it should be, but mercifully part of the money set aside for her and her sisters was safe from her father’s profligate ways. More important to any sensible gentleman would be her connexions and the elegance she would bring to his family. It was true that she had not had much success since devising her scheme to find a husband, but the men had simply not been the right ones for her.

“Mr Payne is wrong to suggest there is a difference between what I think I deserve and what I want. I deserve a respectable match to a gentleman who will give me what I want. Position, a house in town, a modest income—four or five thousand a year would do, and-and…”

Again a soft voice whispered to her. Companionship. Affection. Laughter.

She stood so quickly her chair fell backwards. The noise alerted her maid.

When the stupid girl came to see what had happened, Elizabeth barked,  “Get my hat and pelisse. No, not that one! The new red one. You will make me late.”

Mr Goldingay will be one of the party. A pretty estate in Hertfordshire worth almost five thousand a year and connexions to Viscount Kemble. He is fat and over forty with two unfortunate children, but would be an eligible match. Mrs Thornton, the old gossip, says he is looking for a new wife now that he is out of mourning. He is the sort of husband who is appropriate for Miss Elizabeth Elliot, eldest daughter of Sir Walter Elliot of Kellynch, unlike Mr Frank Payne, who has no connexions and a small estate in the middle of nowhere. Herefordshire? Who would choose to live in—

She let out a growl of frustration, grabbed her parasol and reticule from her maid and stalked out of the room.

***

It was a beautiful autumn day. The sky was clear, the temperature moderate, and the breeze gentle. The view from Beechen Cliff was as wonderful as Elizabeth remembered from previous excursions, but this was the first time she was seeing it in the autumn. What struck her more than the city, even the magnificent Royal Crescent, were the yellows and reds of the tree leaves, which looked so vibrant against the sky.

I wish I could capture that particular shade of red for a gown. My pelisse looks flat and boring compared to it. And that yellow! Oh, to be that bright and happy.

She was not the only creature enjoying her autumn stroll. The Willis sisters walked directly ahead of her, laughing with their heads bent together. Elizabeth wished they would be quieter so that she could savour the sounds of the birds, or the small animal she heard scurrying through the brush. There were five other members of their party, four of whom had wandered off. The remainder, Mr Goldingay, was by her side. The noise he was making was far worse than that of the sisters, but Elizabeth was trying very, very hard to think well of him. He talked incessantly about his estate, his neighbours, the rooms that needed ‘a lady to put them to rights, one with excellent taste, such as yours, Miss Elliot,’ the nearest market town, the house he always took in town for the Season, and how he would not object to spending time in Brighton or returning to Bath. On and on he went in his voice which sounded so nasally she would swear he was speaking entirely through his nose, if it were possible.

Mrs Thornton was correct. He is looking for a wife, just as I am looking for a husband. Why does that not make me happy?

Then, not twenty feet ahead of her, was Mr Frank Payne.

Blood drained from Elizabeth’s cheeks only to flood back into them an instant later. He was with a couple she vaguely recognised, but she ignored them. What she saw was him. He was looking at her arm linked with that of the ridiculous, boring, unattractive Mr Goldingay, as they walked together on a lovely autumn day. A day and a walk that would have been as close to perfect as possible had the two gentlemen changed places.

Mr Payne met her eye and shook his head. She saw his chest rise and fall as he sighed. He said something to his companions, turned his back to Elizabeth, and began to walk away.

Her heart spasmed. He is leaving me! She heard the roar of blood rushing in her ears, drowning out all other sound except the voice in her head screaming, ‘No!’ Seeing him walk away from her, it came to her with a flash. What she wanted and needed was him—someone she would never have to pretend with, never have to flatter. Someone who, with his gentle teasing, help her to become the best person she could be, while also accepting her just the way she was, warts and all.

Elizabeth withdrew her arm from Mr Goldingay, said a few hasty words to excuse herself, and ran after Mr Payne, indifferent to propriety or her dignity.

Fortunately, Mr Payne was in no hurry, and Elizabeth soon caught up to him. She grabbed hold of his arm, and he turned to look at her.

Breathing heavily, she said, “Mr Payne, you are not leaving?” Elizabeth kept hold of his sleeve and pressed her other hand to her chest in an effort to slow her heart.

He huffed. “I am. What is there for me here, Miss Elliot? I had hoped, after our last conversation, that—But I was mistaken. I leave Bath immediately.”

“No, no!” she cried. “I-I, you-you…”

She wanted to beg him not to go, to explain that her thoughts on marriage, and on him in particular, had undergone such a complete change in just the last five minutes that she just needed a moment to catch her breath and understand what was happening. Instead, she stared at him. He stared back.

With noticeable hesitation, he asked, “I? You? I and you?”

Elizabeth did the only thing she could. She nodded. And nodded. She nodded so quickly she thought her head might snap off, but though she called herself an idiot, she could not stop.

“You understand what I can offer you, and what I cannot. I am no ‘sir,’ and while my estate is more than adequate, I am not fabulously wealthy.”

Again, she nodded.

Mr Payne gave a single nod. “Well then, shall we go talk to your father?”

Elizabeth nodded yet again. Why could she not speak?

He laughed. “Are you ever going to talk to me?”

She began to nod, but he put a finger under her chin to stop her from moving it.

She gasped, “Yes. Yes, yes. Oh, I am an idiot, but, yes.”

The corners of his lips twitched in amusement, but Elizabeth saw pleasure in his eyes. She could not look away from his face. It was not the handsomest she had ever seen, but it was still so dear to her. He adjusted her hat and looked around them.

“Did you not have a parasol?” he asked.

“I suppose I dropped it.”

He chuckled. “Silly goose. I shall buy you another one.”

With that, and quite to Elizabeth’s surprise, he kissed her. She found she quite liked it and kissed him back.

***

Happy was the day Miss Elizabeth Elliot resigned the name in favour of Mrs Elizabeth Payne. She discovered there was much to please her in a quiet country life where everyone looked to her as the leading lady, and she did not have to play court to anyone as she had Lady Dalrymple. She and Mr Payne took the occasional trip to town or elsewhere and it was enough for her.

Sir Walter missed her company. That, and a little flattery, saw her succeed with the second part of the scheme she had concocted the morning of Anne’s wedding. While visiting him in Bath six months after her wedding, she found just the bride for him. Young, silly, and wealthy, Miss Baxter had been flattered by the attention of a baronet. Mr Baxter had been happy with the match, which greatly improved the family’s social standing. When the new Lady Elliot presented her husband with a son ten months after their wedding, Elizabeth had grinned. Having a stepmother younger than herself might have annoyed Miss Elliot, but Mrs Payne was too happy to worry about such things, especially when it completed her revenge on Mr Elliot, who was reportedly enraged by Sir Walter’s marriage and no doubt devastated at the loss of Kellynch.

When Elizabeth explained the reason for her joy upon learning about her new brother, her darling Frank had laughed uproariously and told her he loved her, once again proving that she had found the perfect husband.

~The End~

Thanks for reading, and Happy Summer!